


Water Damage

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Series: Strange Glue: Episode Related, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-02
Updated: 1999-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-10 22:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This story is a sequel toSorrow Floats.





	Water Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Strange Glue 5: Water Damage

Strange Glue 5: Water Damage

Author: necessary angel

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski and hints of Fraser/Vecchio and Kowalski/other

Rating: PG-13 for rude words and implied m/m interaction

Spoilers: For everything up to and including Dr Longball though this is not specifically episode related.

Disclaimer: They still belong to Alliance but they like it here so I am not going to kick them out. I borrowed "Strange Glue" from the song of the same name by Catatonia.

Feedback: Given a very good home at

Notes: Fifth and final part. This installment is set in the gap between Dr. Longball and Easy Money. I am using the running order from the official Due South site.

Many thanks for swift and excellent beta to Megan. Thanks also to Latonya for answering my legal questions, her answers helped shape the plot of this thing but that's not her fault. 

As the rest of this monster has been for Caroline Alert

 

 

Strange Glue 5: Water Damage

"So three of the group served on the internal investigation committee for the whole Manor Point affair?" Huey rubs one hand along his jawbone.

"But what about the other three, how do they connect?" Dewey swings his feet off his desk and sits back up in his chair.

"Got me there, we haven't turned up a connection to Manor Point or Orsini, other than that they are all aldermen." 

I scrub one hand through my hair. The last place I want to be today is here. My head feels like it's full of honey or mud or something. The gallon of coffee I've almost drowned myself in isn't doing anything to help. I still feel as sleep- stupid as I did when I walked through the door at the start of the day. 

I tried following Fraser last night once my legs stopped shaking, but he was long gone. I'd thought about just turning up at the Consulate. It wouldn't be the first time I'd broken in there, but the memory of the look in his eyes when he'd left my apartment stopped me. I'd trailed back upstairs, my legs shaking like an old man's again, and I'd spent most of the night pacing my apartment and the rest of it staring at my ceiling. When I dragged my skinny ass into work, I still hadn't figured out what I'd missed.

"Ray! Do you want this or not? Ray!" Frannie is waving a file so close to the end of my nose that I can feel the edge of the card against my skin.

"Yeah, course I do." I grab the file from her.

"What's with ya today?" 

"Nothing. What's this, anyway?" 

I slide off the edge of Dewey's desk and head back to my own.

"Well, if you'd been listening you'd know." Frannie rolls her eyes.

"C'mon, Fran, gimme a break here." 

I find a smile from somewhere. It doesn't feel normal but it seems to do the trick.

"It's the images from the security film." Frannie has followed me back over to my desk. "You look awful, Ray, are you okay?" Her voice has dropped and she looks worried.

"I didn't sleep too good last night and I need all the help I can get to pass for human."

"Yeah, well, I coulda told ya that!" 

She's snapped back to her normal sarcastic tone but she still looks worried.

"I'm fine, Fran, really."

"If ya say so." 

She stares down at me for a second and then swirls off to answer the shrill demand of her phone.

I flip open the file. There are three images; two close-ups and a whole body shot which is virtually useless, thanks to the long coat with its turned up collar. I guess the guy is about six feet with a medium build, but it's hard to tell anything more. The long blond hair is probably a wig. The face in the shot is quite fuzzy; the features are quite distinct

but I've no  
idea who might be under the Dolly Parton hair. It's the profile shot  
that looks the most promising. I feel a little tickle at the back of  
my brain but it stubbornly stays there.

"There's something about that profile shot." Huey's voice is thoughtful and very close to my ear. He's leaning over my shoulder staring down at the picture.

I jump. "Jack, you scared the life outta me."

"A little nervy today aren't ya, tough guy?" Dewey moves past Huey and hitches his hip on to the corner of my desk, his smirk almost alive in its own right.

"Funny, aren't ya?" It feels almost normal to be snarling at him. 

"I've definitely seen him around." Huey is ignoring us.

"Yeah, so have I, but...I can't put a name to the face." 

"Me neither. I'll get some copies made." Huey wanders off, still staring down at the profile shot.

"Well, we're a little further ahead; we know he is white, relatively young and has a really bad hairdresser." Dewey is way too up for me today but I smile at his joke, bad though it was. 

"Yeah, I'm going to take a look at the Orsini angle. We may have better luck if we turn this thing on its head. I might be able to free a few skeletons." 

I feel better for having set myself a definite task, something to focus on. Yeah, focus is good, just what I need.

"It's worth a try." Dewey sighs and heads back to the avalanche of files on his desk.

**********************************************************

Three days since Fraser left for his little trip up north. 

Three days.

It's quiet without Fraser and Dief. Too quiet. It's weird working totally alone again. I work cases without Fraser, he does have to do his quota of slave duty to the Ice Queen, but this is different somehow.

Three days.

I'm good though. 

On top of the poison pen case, I've got another couple of really hot cases, a string of bank robberies, and a spate of car-jackings. More than enough so that no one comments on how much time I spend at the station. 

I'm in early again today. The Squad Room is quiet. Fraser would like this. He thinks I don't notice him flinch at all the noise and movement sometimes. I guess I'm used to it, but I can concentrate way better when there is noise to shut out. This is too quiet; every little sound drags me away from whatever I'm doing.

One good thing about being in this early is that the coffee hasn't had time to boil to death. It actually tastes something close to what it should, which is still pretty disgusting.

Okay, Kowalski, how about some work here? Odd how that sounded exactly like Welsh.

Work, yeah. 

I crack open the City Hall case files. Our poison pen pal is about due to make his next move if his pattern holds. The Orsini angle hadn't turned up much except to confirm my opinion that Stella's judgement had been way off about the guy. He'd inherited a successful printing business from Daddy, and gone into politics after his wife and son were killed in an attempted robbery at a store. His slick and shiny political career had progressed very smoothly, too smoothly. He had lots of highly suggestive connections. Manor Point wasn't the first slightly suspect development he'd been involved with, but the man was Teflon coated. Nothing had stuck until Manor Point. My guts are telling me loud and clear that Orsini is the key to this, but I just can't find the connection. 

I can almost hear Fraser's voice arguing that point, telling me not to let my relationship with Orsini interfere with the investigation. I groan and get up to refill my mug. Fraser is firmly fixed in my head; even when he's not here he's keeping me balanced. That's good, it really is. It just makes wish he was here.

The Squad Room is filling up for the day now. Fran's in and Welsh is just arriving. Coffee's getting to burnt mud stage. The day's beginning. 

"Hey, Frannie."

"Morning, Ray." She's yawning as she settles herself at her desk.

"Late night? Anything I should know about? As your brother, I mean." 

I sit on the edge of her desk feeling so much more awake now. Cop- strength coffee and seeing someone so obviously not awake will do that.

"Oh, nothing, just too much wine and too much talking with a girl friend." Frannie is not awake enough to even bother with sarcasm.

I slide off her desk, pick up her mug and return with it full of coffee.

"I know you hate this stuff but it'll get yer eyes open."

She stares up at me. "Thanks, Ray."

"You won't thank me when ya taste it." 

I wink at her and turn to my own desk. The familiar flash of red I catch outta the corner of my eye stops me dead for a moment. Then my brain catches up and I know the Mountie waiting beside my desk is not Fraser.

"Good morning, Detective Vecchio."

"Hi, Turnbull; I told ya, it's Ray." 

I get so sick of hearing that name sometimes, Vecchio I mean.

"Yes, well, I've brought Constable Fraser's mail to you as he requested."

"What?" Maybe I'm not as awake as I thought but none of what Turnbull has just said makes any sense. 

"Oh, I thought Constable Fraser would have explained. You see, Sir, he asked me to bring any postcards or parcels that arrive for him to you, whilst he's on leave."

"Oh, right. I get it. Thanks." 

Trust Fraser to be so thorough. Looks like the old one-two punch is still working, even if every thing else is all fucked up. Don't go there, Kowalski, focus, remember.

Turnbull clears his throat. "Anyway, a couple of postcards arrived this morning, so in accordance with his instructions I brought them over immediately."

"Thanks. It's all to do with a case Fraser and I were working...a couple ya say? That's queer." I hold out my hand for the cards.

Turnbull pulls out an envelope from his inside pocket. "Constable Fraser explained that, Sir. I've only handled them with gloves and I put them straight in here after they were delivered."

"That's good. Do ya want some coffee or something?"

"No, thank you, Sir."

"Ray." 

I know Fraser is up the Canadian food chain from Turnbull but I'm also sure Fraser quite enjoys the Sirs and all the rest of it from him. After all, if he hadn't pissed off the higher ups so comprehensively, he wouldn't still be Constable Fraser now. But I can't take them. It makes me want to look over my shoulder to see if Welsh is lurking there.

He flushes slightly. "No, thank you, Ray. I have to get back to the Consulate. Inspector Thatcher..."

"Has ya working double time cos Fraze is away?"

"Something like that." He grins and I catch that spark of weary mischief, which he usually keeps well hidden, at the back of his eyes.

"Ya better go back before she comes up with extra cruel and unusual punishment."

"Inspector Thatcher would never..." His shoulders have moved back to military straightness. 

"Yes she would." I grin at him and his shoulders relax again. His eyebrows rise slightly and he smiles.

"I better go. If there is anything I can do to assist you in Constable Fraser's absence..." 

He has switched back to his RCMP poster boy face. How do they do that? Must teach 'em unnatural control of facial muscles at Mountie school, as well as everything else.

"I think we've got it covered, but I'll let ya know."

"Right you are." 

I watch him leave, all correct military posture and dragging feet. For the first time I wonder what he did to end up in Chicago.

I shake myself and open the plain brown envelope Turnbull had left on my desk. Two postcards, one definitely from our cryptic friend, showing the Chicago skyline this time, with 2 words on the back: "Tick, Tock". The other showing a mountain covered in snow, again with just 2 words on the back: "Still cold." This one has nothing to do with the case.

Vecchio. 

Oh shit.

I glance at the card and at my bin and back at the card.

Ben would never know.

Oh fuck.

I shove the postcard in my desk.

Fuck.

I rub my hands over my face. 

Work, remember.

Yeah, need to check my mailbox. That's the problem with getting up early, Kowalski, you end up having to go back on yerself.

************************************************************

//

Cold, crisp burn against my feet, I look down. Snow, I'm walking in snow with bare feet.

That's just too weird.

Everything is white, nothing but hills and dips of snow. And quiet. So quiet I can hear the harsh rush of my breath and the click of my teeth as they tap together. I am shaking, so cold my whole body's jumping.

No clothes and snow, not good, not good at all.

I fit my feet into the footprints ahead and carry on walking. Footprints; I'm not alone. I squint ahead but there's nothing but swirling grey white stuff, mist, I guess.

I keep walking, still shaking like I've got the DTs, following the fucking footprints.

Sharp crack like a gunshot.

I freeze. 

"Gunshot!" Instinct drags the word from my dry throat. I swallow, wondering if you can bleed from yelling.

The swirling grey white stuff is thinner now and I can just see a figure in the distance. The bright red of his jacket is almost too real against all the white. He's standing there, looking back at me, waiting for me.

I'm skimming across the slip and slide of the packed snow, almost as if I am skiing. I look down to check but it's still just my feet, I can't ski so that makes sense. More speckles of red against the snow but I'm flying and it doesn't hurt. 

Ben's still just standing, watching me.

He smiles at me as I finally get to him. "Ray, I've been waiting for you." 

Solid heat, the scratch of the serge against my cold skin hurts, but it's a good pain. I tighten my grip as he tries to move back.

"I've got something to show you." 

I have to let him go and he steps to one side. Another shape against the white, all crumpled and dark and wrong, more red seeping away from the head. I am on my knees, they sting at the scrape and burn of the snow, but that doesn't matter. 

Vecchio.

The man I'm supposed to be.

The man I was supposed to be.

"Fuck, Ben." 

I look up at him. He looks sad and older than I've ever seen him and awkward somehow and then I know why, a gun in his hand, aiming at me.

"What the hell?" I'm slipping and sliding but I'm standing.

"For me this time. This is for me." Still sad and old but his hand is very steady.

Sharp crack, sharper heat and cold, nothing but cold. All the white is gone.

//

All my muscles are jumping and shuddering. I'm wrapped and twisted in something heavy. I'm way too hot and still shivering. My body catches up with my brain and my eyes flick open.

No snow, just my bedroom, just a dream.

Right.

Just a dream.

We've been here before.

Just a dream.

I wriggle, twist and pull, and at last free myself from the sheets. I'm still shaking but I can walk. Just, anyway; I stumble into the bathroom, muscles protesting. I'd been to the gym for the first time in days tonight, or is it last night by now? I slit my eyes against the too-bright burn of the light and turn on the cold faucet.

I dunk my head under the flow of water and almost crack my skull open as my body jumps at the sting of it against my scalp. It works though, and I can feel reality settling as the burn of the dream fades.

I drag a towel over my hair. The rub and scrub of my hands is soothing.

I'm still shaking but I've stopped sweating.

Red-rimmed eyes, stubble and stunned pale face, I look like I'm on the way out of a 5-day drinking binge. 

Dreaming about Rick was bad enough, and I hadn't dreamt of him since I saw his parents. But dreaming about Ben like this is...at least this time I'm not throwing my guts up, probably because my stomach is locked down tight and hard.

I head to the kitchen for a glass of water, the cold oily slide of it easing my raw throat.

Why did I let him leave that night? 

Didn't all those years with Stella teach ya anything, Kowalski?

Yeah, but Ben's not Stella.

I'm back in the bedroom now, the dream catcher in one hand. Even this isn't working for me.

I tuck it under the pillow and untwist the sheets as best I can.

Ben's not Stella, there's no way I would want him to be.

Yeah, but ya've never told him that.

I stop halfway into my bed, a shiver sliding down my spine as it clicks. Jeez, yer a fuckhead, Kowalski. There's more to it than that, I'm sure. There always is with Ben, but I know what I missed that night, now, or at least part of it.

************************************************************

"Vecchio."

"It's getting more interesting now, Detective. Much more interesting." 

A man's voice, a quiet serious voice. Absolutely rock steady and polite. 

"What is? Who are ya?"

"Tick, tock. Tick, tock." 

His voice is still steady and polite, not disguised at all. He could have been talking about the weather.

"Switching games are ya?"

"Same game, Detective Vecchio, same game."

"So what do ya want?" I can play the game too. 

"I've got what I want. Tick, tock."

Click and he's gone. I sit staring at the phone for a few seconds. This is a new spin. He's getting way too confident.

"Who was that?" Welsh and Huey are next to my desk.

"That was our pen pal, I think, Sir. "

"What did he say?" Huey cuts in.

"Nothing of any use, but he's threatening to do something."

I repeat back the conversation. 

"We better warn City Hall, so that they won't open any parcels. Huey, get on it." 

"And the Consulate, and Stella." I'm picking up the phone even as the words spill out.

"I can leave that to you, can't I?" Welsh grins before his face settles back into the grim lines he's been wearing for days now.

I make my calls. 

Turnbull is very switched on when I call the Consulate, surprisingly so. I never quite know what to expect from him. The Ice Queen musta eased up on him a little, or maybe Fraser's absence has loosened him up. 

Stella's in court, so I leave a message with her assistant and one on her voice mail, just in case.

Our pen pal is changing his pattern...escalating, or whatever they call it. Fraser's postcard and a similar one in my mailbox were one-offs yesterday. No one from City Hall had received anything, and we'd drawn a blank with Stella too.

He's stepping up a level and I don't like it.

I don't like it one bit.

I've got a really bad feeling about this. 

Tick tock. 

We are still no nearer to him. All we have is a useless partial fingerprint; some fuzzy photos of a guy in a bad wig, and the suggestion of a connection back to a muttonhead who's in jail. I slam my fist against the desk.

I rub my hand and take a couple of deep breaths. Shit, I wish Fraser was here. A duet isn't much good if ya hafta fly solo.

But he isn't here, so get over it already.

Yeah, right.

I dig out the file again, and find the profile shot. That tickle is still at the back of my mind, still itching away, but I just can't bring it into focus. I lean back in my chair, feet on the desk, and go fishing. It doesn't work; it's just outta reach and nothing I do reels it in. 

Time's almost up on this one. I just know it.

***********************************************************

"Vecchio, I think you need to see this." 

Welsh's bellow reaches me as I leave the lunchroom. It had been a quiet morning. I'd half expected all hell to break loose after the phone call yesterday afternoon, but not a thing, nada. Nothing had shown up at the homes of our city elders or at the Consulate. My mailbox was clean. 

"Vecchio, get yerself in here." 

I beat it into Welsh's office; you don't waste time when he sounds like that. 

Stella is standing next to the desk, dressed in jeans and a sweater. I get this weird déjà vu shake all down my spine. I haven't seen her dressed like that in months. But all that leaves my head as soon as I see her face. She is looking pale despite the carefully applied make-up. Her eyes are the worst. She looks scared to death. 

Nothing much scares Stella. She's the toughest person I know, pure steel all the way through. I fold my arms over my chest. I wanna take that look out of her eyes but I know I can't. Me hugging her won't do it, but I can't help wanting to try.

"Ms Kowalski received this earlier today." Welsh points towards a white carton on his desk.

I move over and look. My heart's hammering in my chest. I'm almost sure of what I'm gonna find.

Fuck. I thought so.

A bomb, or at least all the bits of a bomb. No connection to the detonator though.

Some way to make a threat.

Fuck.

"Didn't ya get my message?" My voice comes out all harsh and sharp.

"Evidently not." Stella's pushing me back just as hard.

This feels strangely familiar.

"Ray." Welsh's voice is low but the warning is crystal clear.

"I'm sorry, Stel. I left a message with yer...."

"Never mind that." Welsh jumps in. "We need this down at the lab fast, and we need a statement from you, Ms Kowalski."

"Of course." Stella looks more like her usual self; the tightness has gone from round her eyes.

"Detective, take her statement and send Francesa in."

*******************************************************

Stella follows me into Interview One. 

"Can we get this done fast, Ray? This is not the way I wanted to spend my day off." 

She sounds hard and cold but I catch the shake in her voice and it stops me dead. Stops me from making the next move in this old game.

"Yeah, sure." 

I keep my voice as level and neutral as I can. Sympathy is not the way to go, not with her in this mood.

"I was at home, finishing up some chores. I'd just had lunch and I'd planned to go shopping this afternoon. The intercom rang as I was pulling on my jacket."

She stops, her professional even tones cracking at the edges.

I give her a couple of minutes before pushing slightly, "And then?"

"It was UPS. I wasn't expecting a delivery and I was a bit annoyed. I just wanted to get going, get on with my day. Anyway, I pushed the door release button and he came up. I signed for the parcel and he left."

"So nothing unusual about him? You sure he was a UPS guy?"

"Of course I am." That was a full snap. She is glaring at me and there's a familiar crackle between us.

"Just covering all the bases." I'm sick of this game, the way it always turns into this.

"Yes, I know. I am sure it was a legitimate delivery, but you can check that, can't you?"

"Course. I wanted to get yer..."

"Perspective." She is no longer glaring at me and the tension in the room is way down from what it was a few seconds ago.

"Exactly."

"Okay. I wasn't going to open the parcel. I'd been home all morning and I wanted to go out. But it would have been on my mind all afternoon if I'd left it, so I opened it."

"And ya left it as it was? No notes or anything?" 

I coulda bitten my tongue as soon as the words hit the air. You slip into certain patterns when you've been doing this job as long as I have. That's not always good. Routine is the silent killer. I grin to myself as a flash of Fraser's face on that first day slides across my brain. 

I wipe the grin off as I catch the glint in Stella's eyes. Not a good move, Kowalski, not a good move.

"It was just as it is now. I do have some idea of what I'm doing." The snap and crackle is back a hundred times over.

"Okay, okay, Stella. I have to check these things, ya know."

She's on her feet now, pacing. "I'm sorry, Ray, I guess I'm just a little wound up."

"It's okay. It's not the worst thing anyone ever said to me in here." 

I smile at her and she even smiles back a little.

"Talk about a rough day."

"Listen, I'll get this typed up so you can sign it. Do ya wanna get a coffee or something?"

"Only if it is real coffee. I'm not touching the stuff you guys swill down on my day off." She is really smiling now and the scared look has faded totally.

"No problem. There's a nice coffee place a couple of blocks over. I need to get outta here for a bit anyway."

***********************************************************

"This is nice." Stella gives the bleached wood and squashy chairs an approving once over.

"The coffee's pretty good too. Even my tastebuds know that." I raise an eyebrow; it's an old line and she smiles.

"I never understood that about you; for someone who drinks so much coffee and can appreciate the good stuff, how you can drink the other stuff?"

"Academy brainwashing."

That actually earns a laugh and suddenly Stella looks years younger, much more like the girl I used to know.

The machine behind the counter eventually spits and grinds out our drinks, and we find a table in a quiet corner.

"You look tired, Ray."

Her hand is on my mine and my eyes jump to her face. There's nothing but concern to be found and I feel my stomach unknot, a little, anyway.

"Heavy caseload, ya know how it gets." 

Her thumb slides over my knuckles and then her hand is gone, wrapping itself round the oversized cup that holds her mocha.

"I know. This poison pen case can't be easy. So where's your partner? I didn't see him at the 27th."

"He's on vacation, gone back to Canada for a few days." 

I shift in my seat, not quite sure what my face is showing. Stella is way too sharp, and more to the point she knows me. She isn't really looking at me, though, and I breathe a little easier.

"Ray, can I ask you something? It's none of my business but..." She is fiddling with her spoon, and the sugar, and she is definitely not looking at me. 

"I guess." My heart is hammering again and the coffee is sloshing in my stomach.

"It's been easier the last few times we've bumped into each other, hasn't it? There's none of that horrible pull and tension, at least not so much of it. It's not just me, is it?"

"No, it's not. That's good though, right?" 

I'm not sure where she is heading with this and why she isn't looking at me.

"Yes, it is good, very good. I've wanted it to be this way for a long time, Ray. You are an important part of my life and I don't want to lose that. At one point it looked like losing you completely was the only way it was going to work out."

"There's too much between us Stel, and I don't just mean that we were married. Too many years, too many connections." 

I can say "were married" and it hardly hurts at all. Just a little bitter sting, rather than the whole body bruise it used to be.

"You're right on the money there, Ray." 

She is concentrating on her coffee but this isn't over yet, not by a long way. I just drink my coffee and wait for her to spit out the rest of what's on her mind. I'm not walking into this one blind.

"You've let it go. That's the only way I can explain it." She's looking at me at last, a soft open look that makes my heart rate slow.

"I've...I love ya, but I know now ya can't go back. We just weren't meant."

"Mmm, exactly. I will always love you, Ray, you have to know that, but we weren't right together for a long, long time." 

She stops again, smiling at the ripple of communal déjà vu. I grin back at her and open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. A little nervous lick of her lips, which used to drive me nuts, but it's nothing now.

"But that isn't all, is it? You've found someone else. I know it's none of my business. In fact, I'm sure I don't want to know. I'm happy for you. I really am."

"I mighta known; ya always could just see everything. Yeah, I've found someone, but it's early days." 

And I've fucked it all up, but I don't say that bit.

"That's good Ray. I mean it. Oh, and I'm sure you'll work it out, whatever it is." 

The floor shifts and settles under my feet. She's looking at me with a knowing smile but there's only warmth in her eyes and I reach across and put my hand on hers. She twists her fingers under mine so that she can squeeze my hand.

"We better get back to the Station; Welsh will have my ass if I don't show soon. He's got all the brass leaning on him over this poison pen case..."

"I can still get some shopping in if we move it." She swallows the rest of her coffee and is on her feet almost as fast as I am.

We're almost back at the 27 when I'm sure. We're being followed. The tickle on my neck had started as soon as we left the coffee joint, and now every single hair on my body is standing on end. A quick look as we pass a long office window shows a dark-haired man a few yards back.

I slow our pace and find another window; he's slowed to match us. Stella is looking at me, puzzled, so I pick it back up to our original speed. The Precinct is looming up in front of us.

"Stel, I just need to get something from my car, you go up." I watch her go in and I slide just inside the entrance and wait.

I don't have to wait long; he is in the parking lot a few minutes later. He doesn't come into the Station though. He leans against the wall quite near the entrance. Tall, about six feet, medium build and his nose looks similar enough to the profile shot for it to be a pretty good bet that this is our guy.

He had to have followed Stella to the 27th in the first place. 

Fuck. 

I slip my glasses on and fix his features in my head as best I can. The wail of a siren as a blue and white squeals out of the parking lot spooks him, and he is running, gone. And I'm moving, beating it to the Squad Room as fast as I can.

Stella's reading her statement in Welsh's office when I slide in.

"Ah, there you are, Detective."

"Stella, you were followed here." I ignore Welsh's sarcasm. 

"By whom?" She looks up, startled.

"Our pen pal, by the looks of it."

"Ms Kowalski, I'm going to put a blue and white outside your apartment building until this is settled. You'll be safe enough during the day, considering where you work."

"Lieutenant, I really don't think..."

"Well, I do, and the higher profile the better. Did you get a good enough look at him to do a photo fit, Ray?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good, do it. Finish up here and then get it done. He's getting way too confident and I want him taken down, fast."

***********************************************************

I've got better things to do than be here. Almost anything would be better than sitting here. I shift in my chair trying to find some way to make the thing comfortable. 

The secretary smiles, just enough so her eyes crease a little at the corners; she musta practised that for hours to get it just so. Her heels tap on the floor as she moves towards me.

"Alderman Roberts won't be much longer, Detective Vecchio. Are you sure I can't get you another coffee?"

"No thanks, I'm fine." I find a smile and that seems to do the trick; she buzzes back to her desk.

I've had two cups of coffee while I've been waiting, any more and my eyeballs'll be swimming. I hate being kept waiting, especially when I've been summoned down here in the first place. Jackass bureaucrats.

The phone buzzes on the overcrowded desk.

"Alderman Roberts will see you now."

About fucking time.

"Thank you." 

"You're more than welcome, go straight in."

I take a deep breath and open the office door. Roberts is a sleek, carefully sun- streaked blond with a politician's smile and a just-right handshake. It's not the first time I've had to deal with him since this whole thing started, but I don't like him any better now. 

Roberts isn't alone. A tall dark-haired man is deep in the innards of a computer.

"Detective Vecchio, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I know you are a busy man." Roberts' smooth voice flows ahead of him as he moves towards me.

Click and clatter as the dark-haired man drops his screwdriver or something. He turns his head away as I look across. It's too late though, and I know exactly where I've seen him before.

"Alderman." I shake his hand as quickly as possible.

"Daniel, leave that for the moment. Detective Vecchio and I won't be very long."

"I need to get a new video card for this anyway." 

It is the same voice as the telephone call, not quite as calm and measured this time. He's outta the door as fast as he can move without actually running.

"Just a little computer trouble. Anyway, Detective, I was hoping you could update me with the details of the investigation so far. We are very concerned at the length of time..."

"Who was that?"

"Who? You mean Daniel?" 

"Daniel who?" 

This man gets up my nose at the best of times and I've no intention of letting my best break get away while I do the diplomatic dance.

"Daniel Jackson, he's worked in our IT department for a couple of years. Why?"

"I'm sorry, Alderman, I'm gonna have to cut this short. I'm sure Lieutenant Welsh will be happy to answer any questions you may have."

I leave him standing there with his mouth open, my phone already in my hand as I hit the outer office.

*********************************************************

Diefenbaker whimpers quietly as they make their way through the aimless throngs of people on the concourse.

"It really is nothing to worry about." 

A slight yip and then his paws are clicking and sliding against the smooth floor as he weaves between the small clusters of people ahead, heading towards a target that only he is aware of.

"Diefenbaker!" 

Fraser almost collides with a young lady who is evidently in somewhat of a hurry. "I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am." She just glares up at him and moves off at an even faster pace.

At last Fraser finds a clear path through and comes to an abrupt halt when he spots his errant companion. Dief is up on his hind legs, his front paws resting on a familiar black leather-clad chest, enthusiastically licking and snuffling at Ray's face. His partner is laughing and trying to shield his face from the worst of the wolf's affection.

"Diefenbaker! I'm sorry, Ray." 

Fraser finds his legs can move again, and he walks as quickly as he can to the two, who are attracting more than their fair share of amused and curious glances. Almost as much as the bright red of his own uniform.

"Don't be." Ray grins, his face alight. He pushes Dief's paws from his chest and ruffles a hand through the fur at his neck. "Ya just missed me didn't ya?"

Dief snorts and settles at the blond man's feet. Ray steps over him and comes closer to Fraser. One arm sweeps around Fraser's shoulders and he is pulled into a swift hard hug. Sudden warm tang of leather and Ray before his partner draws back. 

"Hey, Fraze, it's good to see ya, real good. Did ya have a good time?" 

Fraser shivers, abruptly cold now Ray's lean body has moved back to a safer distance. 

"Excellent, Ray. A very enjoyable and relaxing few days." He settles his Stetson back into place on his head.

"Good, I'm glad. Ya look good for it." Slow shy smile and then his partner is turning, moving towards the exit.

"How did you know that I would be arriving at this time?"

Fraser is genuinely curious. He had wanted to ease back into his life in Chicago before having what he expected to be a difficult reunion with his partner, his friend. Only it hasn't proven to be difficult at all.

"Oh, I've my sources." Ray taps his nose, his lips quirking and the skin at his eyes wrinkling slightly.

"Constable Turnbull?"

"Yeah, Turnbull." Ray unlocks the car, opening the trunk and passenger door for Fraser. "He mentioned that ya were arriving today, and it wasn't hard to work out which train ya had to be on."

Fraser smiles, relaxed for the first time since that night in Ray's apartment. He stows his luggage and settles himself in the car. Dief is already ensconced in his place on the back seat.

Ray starts to negotiate the late afternoon traffic.

"Do ya want me to take ya straight to the Consulate? Only, I know yer not officially back on duty for another day and I wondered..."

He stops, biting his lower lip. Fraser catches his sideways look and smiles encouragingly.

"What is it, Ray?"

"Well, we're gonna take down our pen pal tonight and I wondered if ya wanna be in on it? I mean, ya did a lot of the leg work, so...but if yer tired and wanna crash I can take ya back to the Consulate."

"Of course I want to be involved." 

Fraser takes a closer look at his companion and feels his stomach tighten again. That hug wasn't the only similarity to their first meeting; the wary, strangely insolent look is back in his friend's eyes. He had done just as much damage as he had thought that night. Fraser closes his eyes against the rush of self-loathing. He is tired of this, of this dance that seems to always end the same way.

"You sometimes don't use the courage that you have for the right things, son."

Fraser turns his head, knowing what or rather whom he will see behind him.

"Oh, great, just what I need."

"What is?" Ray's voice is puzzled; he barely turns his attention away from the heavy clogged traffic.

Fraser snaps his head back round so fast that the tendons in his neck ache. "The traffic; I should have urinated before we began the journey back." 

"Oh right, sorry Fraze, yer gonna have to tie a knot in it."

"So it would seem." Fraser turns his head slightly this time; his father is still there.

"You've let the Yank do all the running with this and that isn't fair, son. I didn't raise you to avoid responsibility; this is not a time for your rigidity. You need the Yank even if you won't admit it." 

Fraser opens his mouth but catches Ray watching him out of the corner of his eye. He smiles slightly, and Ray nods back and carries on slipping through the snarls of traffic.

"You don't use your eyes properly either, son. You can track other things besides footprints, you know. You just have to make the leap, son, you just have to make the leap. Don't you remember anything I've told you about partnership?"

"Partners are..." Fraser forgets Ray's watchfulness, but his father is gone, having got the last word as usual.

"Yeah, we've got a lot to talk about, Fraze." Ray is looking at him and not at the traffic, which is almost stationary in point of fact.

"Yes, we do."

Ray's hand leaves the steering wheel and presses against Fraser's thigh for a moment before sliding up to snare his fingers. The long thin fingers twist around his own and Fraser feels his breath catch.

"Later, right?" Ray's voice is soft and the insolent look has faded to a shadow at the back of his eyes.

"Later." Fraser tightens his grip around the callused fingers, and Ray squeezes back. 

Fraser feels slightly lost when Ray slides his hand free, but the promise is still hanging in the air between them, and he holds on to that with everything he has.

***********************************************************

He had missed this more than he had realized. Fraser had expected to miss his partner; those few days Ray had spent in Mexico had prepared him for that. It had taken him a little while to stop anticipating Ray's voice, and to not look for movement next to him that wasn't going to be there. In the end his usual self-discipline had won through and he had stopped himself expecting. He had chosen, needed, this time alone and wishing for his friend would resolve nothing.

Ray is looking over at him obviously waiting for an answer. Fraser runs the last few sentences of his partner's explanation through his head. He hadn't been paying attention but some part of him was evidently listening. He stiffens in his seat as the words actually filter into his brain. 

"He was just there in Alderman Roberts' office?" Fraser can't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Yep, close as you are to me now; well almost, anyway." Ray stretches the best that he can in the confines of the car seat.

Fraser smiles slightly to himself; yes this is what he has missed, what he hadn't been able to stop himself missing. The casual little flashes of intimacy that usually go unnoticed and unrecorded until they are not there. 

He searches and finds a question. Ray is relaying interesting information about the case while they wait but all Fraser wants to concentrate on is the sound of his voice.

"So, what's the connection to the former Alderman known as Frank Orsini?" 

They have been waiting in Ray's car, watching Daniel Jackson's place of residence for about an hour, and Fraser is almost up to speed on the facts of the case. He is both dreading and anticipating the call that will end their vigil. They have almost completed their discussion about the case, and while Fraser is almost sure that Ray won't wish to open up more personal topics just yet, a call to action would make certain. On the other hand, that same call will end this strangely peaceful interlude, and Fraser is enjoying just being with Ray far too much to want it to end.

"Well, that's the kicker." Ray fumbles in his jacket pocket and pulls out a much-folded piece of paper. "Here; we pulled this off the security tape."

Fraser takes the paper and unfolds it to reveal a profile shot of a man in a very bad blonde wig. He pushes his personal musings to one side; he is, after all, supposed to on police business, and however easy they expect the arrest to be, he ought to be giving his full attention to matters.

"It's not very clear." He is puzzled; he has no idea where Ray is going with this and it shows very plainly in his voice.

"Yeah, well, it was the best one we got, but that's not the point. Jackson doesn't have a record, he's as clean as they come."

"So?" Fraser is still unable to ascertain what Ray is trying to tell him.

"Take another look at it." Ray's voice is full of barely suppressed amusement and a certain amount of glee.

Fraser holds the paper up to the overhead light and looks at it carefully. 

"There is something very familiar about the nose and the jawline."

"Exactly; it had Jack and me jumping. We both knew we'd seen that face somewhere before but we couldn't figger it at all. Then once I saw Jackson close up I knew exactly where it came from." 

A quickly hidden and quite definitely smug smile but Fraser sees it.

"Where?" Fraser is seconds away from shaking his deliberately irritating partner.

Ray's red mouth curves into a wide smile before he relents. "He's Orsini's son. I'll stake my life on it."

"Ah, I see." Fraser takes another look at the crumpled copy. "I think you are right, Ray."

"Frank was one for the ladies by all accounts, so it seems to add up." 

Ray sounds pleased and vaguely disgruntled at the same time. Fraser glances at him quickly, but he doesn't seem as upset as he normally is when the subject of Frank Orsini arises. 

"A youthful indiscretion, then." His voice is surprisingly level despite the delight and hope that is flickering in his stomach. 

"Not that youthful; Jackson's only just 22 and Orsini is what, 45 or more?" Ray's voice is lazy now; his eyes fixed on the street ahead.

"I wasn't aware of his age. He looked much younger."

"If ya got the money I guess you can hold back the years a bit. Or maybe he just has good genes. It gives us the motive, which is the important thing." 

His partner seems very careless and matter of fact. Fraser can't read anything other than a vaguely impatient amusement on the angular face and he must allow himself to cheered by that.

"It seems unusual to take such a revenge for father whose name you don't even bear."

"Yeah, well... it's never quite that simple is it. Dewey did some digging at City Hall. He managed to plug into the grapevine; a girl he went to high school with works as a clerk or something. Once we had Jackson's name he did a little research. Apparently Jackson was thrown very discreetly outta college for hacking. Orsini got him the job at City Hall on a trial basis. He was good, so he stayed."

Still careless and matter of fact, and Fraser is certain this time that is all Ray feels.

"So, there is a personal connection."

Fraser settles back in his seat, turning over the pieces of what Ray has just told him.

"Yep."

Ray's cell phone buzzes. 

"Vecchio." 

He listens for a moment and snaps it shut.

"Okay, we're moving."

************************************************************

Fraser closes his eyes, listening to the creak of leather and clink of metal as his partner settles himself in the driver's seat. It had been a long evening. The operation to arrest Daniel Jackson had been smooth, efficient and clean. They had found enough evidence to make conviction inevitable, causing the man himself to give a full confession.

Fraser had enjoyed the small celebration that Lieutenant Welsh had organized after the initial flurry of paperwork and questioning had been completed. The bar the Lieutenant has chosen had been quite quiet and relatively smoke-free, and the food had been good. A very pleasant evening, despite the fact Fraser had felt somewhat on the periphery of the inescapable post-mortem. He had missed out on a lot during his brief sojourn in the North. 

"Hey Fraze, ya still with me?" 

Ray's voice is low. Fraser opens his eyes to find his partner's face very close to his own. He breathes in the scent of leather and smoke that is clinging to Ray.

"Always, Ray. I was just thinking about tonight. It all went very well."

"Yes, it did. So, where to now?" Ray still hasn't started the car, although he has straightened up, pulling away to a safer distance.

"Your apartment, I think, don't you?" 

"Yeah, I think." 

Ray gives him one last long look and then that quick nod that means something has fallen into place for him. 

Fraser almost asks him what he is thinking, but then reconsiders; he is not sure he wants to go there. Ray's language lessons are working. He smothers a chuckle.

His partner is very quiet; anyone else might assume that he was tired and content after the successful outcome of a long and wearing investigation, but Fraser knows differently. The slight twist to the sulky mouth, the faint grooves in his forehead, and the vibration of his fingers tapping against the steering wheel all tell a far different tale. Dief snorts and whines in the back seat. He is also picking up the waves of tension and expectancy from Ray. Fraser breathes slowly for a few minutes, trying to loosen the knots in his stomach, but he is only partially successful.

"I was watching you and Stella tonight." 

Fraser might as well begin there. He needs this to be over and done with just as much as he suspects Ray does. It has gone on long enough.

"Oh yeah?" Ray is looking at him, his forehead furrowed.

"Pay attention to the road, please, Ray."

"Well, whatcha expect when ya just let things drop like that?" Ray is grumbling but there is no edge to the complaint, just a certain expectancy.

"I realized something, something I think you were trying to tell me that night before I left for Canada." 

A sharp sidelong look but Ray doesn't say anything, he waits for Fraser to continue.

"I realized that Stella is a part of your life, she always will be..."

"I don't know about that; she's my past, more or less." Ray is speaking quickly, as if he is afraid Fraser might stop him.

Fraser catches his friend's sideways glance and nods.

"I shoulda told you this, straight out. I'm not good at this, but I suppose ya coulda guessed that. People who are good at this stuff don't end up divorced." 

Fraser stiffens at the now-familiar note of doubt and self-loathing in Ray's voice. He pushes down the urge to just curse Stella, and finds some measure of calmness.

"You were married for a long time, Ray, and in my limited experience..."

"Ben. I... I have to say this. I think if I'd said this earlier we might not be in this mess now." 

Ray pulls to halt at a stoplight and turns to face Fraser. Fraser shakes his head, but settles back in his seat at the set look on his partner's face. He doesn't think the illumination from the traffic signals is fully responsible for the high color he can detect on the sharp cheekbones.

"Stella and I are over. It is as simple as that. I didn't wanna face it. I don't let go easy, and we'd been through the whole cycle so often...it didn't seem any different at first."

"So what changed it?" Fraser keeps the question as gentle as he can, despite his desperation for the answer.

Ray doesn't answer, just pulls away from the stoplight and finds somewhere he can park the car.

"I can't drive and have this conversation. And no, I don't wanna stop until we get back to my place. We need to do this." He twists in his seat until he is facing Fraser, his knee nudging Fraser's thigh.

"Yes, we do."

Fraser links his fingers together so they can't trace that set jaw. He knows his touch wouldn't be unwelcome, but they really need to talk more than anything else at this moment. 

"What changed it? You, Orsini...I'm not really sure. You were, are, like no one I'd ever met before. It wasn't just your five star vocabulary, though that'll do it every time for me, that and the uniform." His mouth curves slightly but Ray's voice is very serious. "You knocked me on the ass the first time I saw ya and I just couldn't get my balance back."

Ray stops rubbing his hands over his face. He takes a strange gulping breath. "Yer a good person, Ben, and when I met you I'd stopped believing that good people really existed. Not only were you a good person, but ya actually liked me."

"Ray, as if I could do anything else but like you." Fraser can feel the faint ridiculous prickle of tears at the back of his throat.

Ray's long fingers are firm against his mouth and he obeys the silent command.

"Then Orsini happened and I went a little crazy, but ya stuck with me; more than that, ya covered me, backed me up. Somewhere in that mess was when it started to change. That's when the cycle broke, I saw other possibilities than Stella for the first time in a long time. I hated that at first ya know. I know that's completely fucked up."

Fraser pulls Ray's clasped hands into his own and squeezes them. "Not at all. I can understand that."

"Ya know, I believe ya. I didn't get that at first. I didn't see how someone so...so good as you could understand things like that. But you do, ya really do."

"Ray... I'm as human as the rest of us. I..." Fraser trails off knowing the anger in his voice isn't aimed at Ray but not certain whether his companion will realize that.

"Hey, Ben." 

Ray's voice is as soothing as if he were gentling a frightened horse. Fraser almost has to laugh at the unlikely thought. 

"I know that...it's what I like about ya." A flash of a smile so quick that Fraser almost misses it. "Yer also one of the best people I know and ya get the best outta the rest of us; well, me anyway."

Ray fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out a postcard.

"Which is why I still have this to give to ya." He pushes the card into Fraser's hands.

"What? I..." 

Fraser grips the card mechanically, not looking at it. His heart rate is elevated, and for the first time since he got in the car at the railway station he is scared.

"It arrived while ya were away. Turnbull brought it over with another card from Jackson. I kept it, and.... part of me wishes I hadn't. But like I say, Ben, ya have a certain influence."

Ray's voice is shaky, and he has twisted back in his seat to face the steering wheel. Fraser watches as he starts the car.

"Shall we finish this at my place?" 

Ray still isn't looking at him but Fraser nods anyway, he couldn't possibly speak at this moment.

*************************************************************

"It's from Vecchio, isn't it?" 

They are the first words Ray has spoken since he had restarted their journey back to his apartment. Fraser looks over at him from his seat on the couch. Ray is leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms wrapped around his chest, hands gripping his biceps. 

Fraser smoothes a finger across the lighter Ray had given him when they had entered the apartment. He hasn't used it yet. Two months ago, he would have used up his standard issue matches to get at this message, but now he only feels furious that he has made his partner uncertain enough to believe that this would matter.

"Do it." Ray's voice is sharp, but the look on his face is anything but angry.

"I don't want to." Fraser puts the postcard and the lighter down on the coffee table.

Ray stares at him and then shakes his head. 

"Why?" His voice is raw and so low that Fraser only knows that Ray spoke because he was watching his mouth.

Fraser stands and moves slowly towards his partner. His normal fluency with words is no use to him in such situations. It never has been, and he has to get this right. 

Dief whimpers from his spot underneath the window, but Fraser doesn't even look over. All his attention is fixed on the glittering, changeable eyes and set face of the man in front of him.

"I don't need to." He stops feeling for the right words that will unlock this spiraling tension.

"Why?" Still raw but not so quiet.

"Do you remember telling me about Rick the last time I was here?"

"Course I do." Ray's forehead pulls into its familiar furrows. His eyes are dark now, almost like honey. He chews his lip as if he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet.

"Ray Vecchio was to me what Rick was to you. Was, Ray, not anymore; that card is months too late. Whatever we once shared was over before I left for my vacation, before you took over his life."

Ray's eyes are closed now, but his forehead is smooth and he is smiling faintly.

Fraser cracks his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders release. He is almost there. 

"What I feel for you, what we have between us, is nothing to do with Ray Vecchio. Do you understand that?"

"I guess I need things spelt out in huge neon letters sometimes." 

Ray opens his eyes and just looks at Fraser, unashamed or disregarding the shimmer of tears that he has to know is there in plain view.

"I get it, Ben, I really do."

Fraser doesn't know who moves first, but Ray's arms are around him and his lean body is pressed as tightly against him as the other man can manage it.

"I get it too, Ray." He mutters into the ear, which is conveniently available. 

Ray raises his head, the soft spikes of his hair brushing against Fraser's face as he moves. His grin is positively feral as he murmurs back.

"About time."

 


End file.
